The Darker Side To Me
by SilverDawn249
Summary: At the age of ten, Harry meets a boy named Tom Smith. He knows hardly anything about him except for the fact that they both share the same power. Neither of them know what this means until they receive a letter inviting them to Hogwarts: A school for magic. Is Tom really who he says he is? Or are there darker intentions? Dark(ish)!Harry. Events in canon will mostly occur.
1. Prologue

The Darker Side To Me...

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe :(**

Prologue:

The fire swirled higher, tendrils of flame bending around a copper cauldron, reaching for the dimly lit stars speckled across the endless night sky.

A single drop of crimson liquid fell from a wicked dagger, hitting the surface of the blood red potion with a resolute finality. Immediately the viscous liquid turned a pure, blinding white. Even Voldemort had to turn away, close his eyes as the light grew to an alarming intensity. Thick steam poured over the side of the cauldron, seeping over the ground and climbing up fractured gravestones so that when the tall, skeletal man finally opened his eyes, everything was obscured from view.

With increasing trepidation, Voldemort moved closer to the remains of the cauldron, his fast heart beat revealing the nervousness he tried so hard to hide. Please,_ please_ let it have worked. He peered into the depths of the now empty cauldron and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

At the bottom lay a small child, perhaps of only eighteen months, lying gracefully in a restful slumber. Voldemort's long, pale fingers grasped it gently – he had never had any true patience with children, but this one was different. This one would help him win the war.

A death eater, he didn't care enough to recognise the man, stumbled forwards and took the child clumsily from his hands, bowing graciously as he backed away.

Now standing alone, Voldemort looked pensively around the graveyard that had seen his rebirth mere hours ago. At his feet the small silver dagger lay, Potter's blood slowly drying upon it. Voldemort was thankful Wormtail had had the sense to wipe his own blood off before cutting into the boy, otherwise none of this would be possible. Behind him, three faithful death eaters were wrapping the child up in blankets, resting a letter written in neat calligraphy between the folds.

A glint in the bottom of the smouldering cauldron caught his eye. A ring, the elegant stone inscribed with a triangular marking sat there innocently, twinkling up at him.

A split second decision forced him to pick it up and carry it over to the child. He hissed at the death eaters to back off and they quickly scurried away. Cowards.

Voldemort placed the child, letter, ring and all, on the ground and drew his yew wand. He trod a careful circle of about a metre in diameter, chanting complicated Latin under his breath. Shining runes appeared in the grass, mutating and converging, never remaining completely motionless.

He stopped, satisfied, and took a scrap of parchment from a pocket in his robe. _Harry Potter, _it read. Voldemort dropped it onto the child's blankets and a sadistic smile twisted his features. "Find him," he whispered down to the babe. "Destroy him."

And with that, the runes glimmered one last time before the child was sucked into a swirling vortex of magic.

Voldemort took one long look around the graveyard. "Time's up Potter," he crowed as the very fabric of the world around him started to tear itself up, the ground started shaking and thunder rolled across the sky. "The endgame has just begun."

**A/N: Short, I know. But every story needs a prologue right? Hopefully the next chapter will be up really soon (within twenty four hours for sure) because I want you to get a taste of what the story's going to be like. **

**I've never exactly written anything like this before, all my other stories stick completely and utterly to canon so this is unknown territory... **

**Review and let me know what you think?**

**Ciao:)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe :(**

* * *

Harry ran.

Air cut into him like a frozen knife as he gasped, his body desperately yearning for the refreshing oxygen it needed to keep him going. His feet slapped against the hard concrete, his way too big shoes threatening to fall off – but then again, he might be able to run faster if they did.

Exhilarated screams and shouts chased him, ever drawing nearer. For although Harry was both faster and fitter than the other boys, there was only so far you could run and only so many places you could hide in the playground.

Ironic, really; that it was called a playground. The word should connote happiness and childhood memories of playing It with other kids and holding fantasy tea parties with teddy bears. Instead it was a torture ground where he was frequently bullied for his baggy clothes and cello-taped glasses; shoved roughly up to a wall and kicked, punched by Dudley's gang. The only thing he could hope to do was run until the bell rang, at which he would be called inside and kept relatively safe until the next break when it would start all over again.

His messy, dark hair in his eyes and running with no sense of direction, Harry raced behind the long redbrick building, only to immediately skid to a halt and spin back around. Too late. His torturers had already arrived, breathing heavily, blocking the one and only exit from the dead end Harry had somehow run himself into.

"Alright Harry?" Dudley asked. Harry was pleased to see his cousin had trouble forming words, he was panting so hard.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Harry replied, playing along while he desperately searched his surroundings for a way out. So far, unless he could somehow get onto the roof, the only escape route was the one the boys were blocking.

Piers sneered at him, not that there was much difference, sneering seemed to be the rat-like boy's go to expression. "No escaping Potter," he said and the other boys laughed raucously as if Piers had just made the funniest joke of the century.

Dudley, having recovered from his little fit, stepped closer to Harry. Harry backed away but after a couple of steps felt the cool surface of the building on his back. He was cornered. Dudley laughed in his face, his breath smelling suspiciously like pepperoni pizza and garlic sauce.

"Brush your teeth," Harry chocked out.

His cousin blinked stupidly. "What?"

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. His cousin may be able to punch but he was incredibly, unbelievably dumb.

Dudley, overcoming his momentary slip-up, drew back his meaty hand and, cheered on by his friends, hit Harry in the face. Hard.

Harry's head smacked back and hit the wall behind him causing his ears to ring and head to pound. A dribble of blood fell from his nose. He felt a terrible humiliation gnaw at his insides and anger took over his actions. The jeers and catcalls became fainter and and odd sensation started to pulsate through his body. It felt as if his blood had turned to burning ice, flowing through him in shock waves, like a terrible, destructive earthquake. His heart beat faster, his breaths came clearer, he felt more alive.

Back in reality, his cousin sneered again and brought his hand back.

Harry didn't know what made him do it, whether instincts or something else, but he grabbed Dudley's fist as it swung towards him. He wasn't nearly strong enough to stop it, yet the blow still deviated from its intended path, missing Harry by inches. Even after the momentum faded and Dudley's hand stopped moving, he didn't let go.

For a second Dudley angrily glared at him and the boys closed ranks, as they usually did at any sign of defiance. Then, suddenly, Dudley's expression contorted into one of immense, soul-devouring pain.

All the power Harry had felt circulating his body now swarmed to the hand which was still gripping Dudley's closed fist. His cousin tried to pull away but Harry's grip had turned to iron. Even he, in his delirious state, doubted he could release Dudley, even if he had wanted to. The screams went on for an eternity as all the rage Harry had ever felt when Dudley had punched him, insulted him, generally made his life miserable, all made their way to the front of his brain, fuelling the power. Distant shouts, a tug on his arm, more screams.

With a gasp, Harry dropped Dudley's fist.

His cousin lay whimpering at his feet, curled into the fetus position and nursing his hand. His friends dragged him roughly to his feet and pulled him away, shooting frightened glances at the deathly pale Harry.

Once they had left, Harry leant his head back against the wall, resisting the urge to hurl. He sunk to the ground feeling dizzy and drained, as if his life force had been whisked away from him. He revealed in the bitter sweet silence, a splitting headache already making its presence known.

"That was, impressive."

Harry jerked his head up at the silky voice. Blinking away spots in his vision, his gaze fell upon a boy of about his own age, leaning casually up against the building and watching Harry through dark, careful eyes.

Tom.

The boy had only recently joined their school and had so far kept himself to himself.

"W-what?" Harry spluttered, confused at the boy's reaction. Why wasn't he running away yelling like the others had?

"That was impressive," Tom repeated, his lip curling and stepping closer to him. "_How did you do it?_"

Harry blinked, taken aback at the sheer amount of power behind the words, he felt obliged to answer. Not doing so would greatly disappoint Tom, he couldn't let that happen. He _had_ to tell him the tru- wait, what?

"Um, I don't exactly know," Harry eventually replied, eyeing Tom with unease.

The boy tilted his head, firmly holding Harry's gaze. "Did you feel, _powerful_?" His tone was casual but intense curiosity shone through the hungry glint in his eyes.

Suspiciously, Harry nodded.

Tom regarded him for a few seconds longer before suddenly walking towards him. Harry involuntarily flinched, but Tom only held out a hand to help him up.

Harry took it, his energy returning and feeling better than he had moments before.

"Tom Smith," Tom said, smiling, if not warmly but perhaps genuinely.

"Harry Potter," Harry said.

Tom's eyes went wide and his mouth opened in utter surprise, however the expression vanished so quickly that Harry was sure he must have imagined it.

"How did – how did you..." Harry stuttered over his words but evidently Tom understood what he was attempting to ask.

"Because the same thing's happened to me," Tom answered simply, his dark eyes not releasing Harry's emerald ones.

"Really?" Harry said in excitement, the word tumbling from his mouth before he could stop it.

"Yes," said Tom and Harry recognised his own excited expression mirrored in the boy's features. "Many times. I can control it now though. Watch." Tom closed his eyes and slowly lifted his palm upwards, extreme concentration etched on his face. One of the bin lids near the wall moved upwards with Tom's hand. Harry's mouth dropped open.

Tom let his hand fall and the bin lid fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Tom took a sharp intake of air, his already pale skin nearing white, just as Harry's had done after he'd used this... _power_ on Dudley. "Wow," Harry gasped and noted a hint of pride on Tom's face.

"I can also make people do what I want," he went on, his eagerness to please overruling any efforts to remain in control.

"Teach me," Harry almost begged. "I'm going to be in so much trouble with my aunt and uncle when Dudley tells them what happened."

"You don't live with your parents?" Tom asked curiously, correctly guessing what Harry had implied.

"My parents died," Harry said quietly. This wasn't information he usually told people he'd just met but there seemed to be something, maybe not friendly but trustworthy about Tom. Not only did they share this _power _but he felt an odd connection to him, one he couldn't quite explain.

Tom was silent for a minute then said quite suddenly, "mine too."

A neither comfortable nor uncomfortable silence stretched between the two ten year olds, finally broken by a piercing bell which signalled the end of lunch.

He and Tom exchanged one final look of mutual understanding before heading into the redbrick building together.

* * *

Dudley and his gang remained unusually subdued for the rest of the school day, occasionally shooting nervous glances at Harry who sat at the back of the class, trying desperately to listen to Tom's hissings of how to use the "power voice" or so they had dubbed it.

"You have to _want _them to do what you tell them," Tom whispered. "You have to _want _to be in control.

Just to show what he meant, Tom turned to the girl sitting beside he and said, quite simply, "give me the pencil." Immediately, and without hesitation, the girl obliged. "Keep the instruction concise," Tom added. "And don't try to be polite about it."

Harry nodded, trying to cement the information in his head.

All too soon the bell rang and their teacher dismissed them.

On the short walk home, Dudley waddled ahead of Harry determined not to so much as look at him. The only words he said were, "you're dead," when they finally reached number four Privet Drive.

As soon as he had crossed the threshold, Dudley burst into huge, fake tears, causing Aunt Petunia (luckily Uncle Vernon was still at work) to come racing down the stairs (Harry half-hoped she would fall) and comfort the wailing Dudley. "What's wrong sweetums?" She cooed, stroking down the thin blond hair on his fat head.

"H-Harry d-did-" Dudley choked out.

"Harry did what?" Aunt Petunia said, glaring at Harry who stood frozen in the doorway, debating the best course of action: Fight or flight.

"H-he grabbed me and, and, it r-really hurt-"

Harry was glad that Aunt Petunia interrupted him there because he was sure that "really hurt" didn't begin to cover the amount of pain he had inflicted upon his cousin. "What did you do?" Aunt Petunia demanded of him.

"Nothing," Harry said, knowing his efforts were futile. "Forget it." He tried what Tom had suggested, putting as much power as he could into the phrase but it came out meekly.

"What did you do?" His aunt repeated, grabbing hold of his shoulders and shaking him, causing his glasses to slip down his nose. Harry tried to worm out of her grasp but found it nearly impossible, she was gripping him too tightly. "Did you hurt him?" She reinstated, shaking him more than ever.

Harry felt anger stir inside of him, and, knowing that was often the cause of his power, let it grow. Steadily it reached up inside of him, a roar started in his ears, drowning out Aunt Petunia's voice and Dudley's continued shrieks.

The power built up until he could hardly contain it any longer. "_Forget it!_" Harry demanded and Aunt Petunia immediately let go of him. The power subsided and Harry found himself feeling shaky and weak, though not nearly as bad as earlier.

Dudley looked around in confusion for a minute, probably wondering why he was sitting on the floor, then shrugged and stood up, heading into the kitchen to get himself a snack. Aunt Petunia straightened and brushed imaginary dust from her dress then followed Dudley into the kitchen, leaving Harry standing shell-shocked by the door.

* * *

The glowing sun set over Surrey and Tom found himself sitting cross legged on his bed. The cry of younger children and arguing voices floated up from downstairs but for once it didn't irritate the pensive boy. He frowned down at an old, faded slip of parchment in his hands. He turned it over and over. For so long he had searched, searched but never found. And now, suddenly, he had found him.

The parchment fell from his hands, landing softly on the basic bed. Words written in blood red ink shone up at him.

Harry Potter.

* * *

**A/N: Dundunduh...:) First chapter as promised, hope y'all like it. Huge thanks to Ballerina Bookworm for reviewing and to any one who followed. Aiming to get the next chapter up within the week.**

**Please, please, please review! I want to know what you think and what you think is going to happen etc. Constructive criticism is more than welcome.**

**Quick question: How often do you want me to update? I can churn these chapters out pretty quickly but I don't want to overwhelm you or anything:/ So once a week or as soon as I'm ready with one?**

**Ciao:)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything/one in his universe. So text in this chapter has been taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (I'm sure you'll recognise it).**

* * *

Life continued normally for Harry – well, if setting a boa constrictor on his cousin and then getting locked in his cupboard for almost a month counts as normal.

He had many hours to while away in his dark, lonely cupboard and, upon reflection, Harry had concluded that setting the snake on his cousin hadn't really been his fault. Obviously it was him who had set it free, but he now knew that his "power" was triggered by strong emotions, so technically it was Dudley's fault for angering him by knocking him to the floor.

Not that it mattered, the Dursleys still punished him anyway.

Unfortunately, his punishment meant that he wasn't allowed to leave the cupboard even for trivial things such as school. Harry wouldn't normally have minded but since his and Tom's initial meeting they had become something that vaguely represented friends. Not being with him resulted in a dull ache, as if part of him were missing. He knew that made no sense, Dudley certainly had no such connection with any of his cronies, but Harry suspected it had something to do with the "power". What ever that may be.

One day, soon after the holidays had started and Harry had finally been released from his dingy prison, Tom chose to pay them a visit. Harry was a little disgruntled he hadn't done so before now, despite knowing the care home Tom resided in held many odd and unfair rules.

Harry, Dudley and his aunt and uncle had been sitting around the table eating their breakfast, Uncle Vernon complaining loudly about the lack of food and large amount of air in cereal packets when the doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon got up to answer it, grumbling all the way about early-callers.

"What do you want?" Harry heard his uncle demand once he'd opened the door. The occupants of the kitchen subtly slowed their movements to eavesdrop.

"Excuse me," a soft voice easily replied, causing Harry to almost spray milk all over the kitchen table. Next to him, Dudley dropped his spoon. "Are you Mr Dursley?" Tom asked politely.

"Yes," his uncle said and Harry could imagine him trying to loom over Tom, doing his best to look intimidating. While it may work for some people, the quiet eleven year old was a whole new level of intimidating, people just seemed to want to collapse at his feet. Luckily for him, Harry was the only person Tom couldn't work his charm on, something which gave Harry a massive advantage in their near constant power struggles.

"Is Harry Potter home?" The words were still polite but now had an edge to them, probably triggered by Uncle Vernon's fruitless attempt at controlling the conversation. Aunt Petunia glared at Harry from across the table as if it were his fault that Tom had chosen to grace them with his presence.

"Yes, but-"

"Excellent," Tom interrupted. "May I see him?"

"No!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed, and Harry heard him shift, barring the doorway. Thinking it was probably time to intervene, Harry got to his feet but Aunt Petunia snapped at him to sit back down.

"And why's that?" All trace of politeness had vanished from Tom's voice and Harry could've sworn he heard Uncle Vernon take a step back.

"H-he's got the, um, flu. Highly contagious you see and-"

"You're lying." It wasn't a question.

"N-no I'm certainly not- what do you think you're doing?!"

"Seeing Harry." Tom's voice came floating in from the hallway, evidently meaning he'd somehow wormed his way past Uncle Vernon.

"Now you just listen to me young-"

The kitchen door burst open and Tom stood framed in the doorway, assessing the scene in front of him.

Dudley had his hand stuck halfway between his mouth and his bowl, his spoon still on the table from where he'd dropped it, and Aunt Petunia looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, (although she usually looked like that so Harry couldn't be sure if she was shocked or not).

Harry swivelled in his seat and looked up at the sharp faced boy. "Hi Tom," he said, careful to hide any surprise that might colour his tone.

"Potter," Tom said curtly but Harry detected the smile behind his words.

Dudley gave a terrified squeak and attempted to slide lower in his seat. Tom raised his eyebrows slightly but other than that didn't spare Dudley any attention. "Is it alright if Harry and I go off for the morning?" Tom asked Aunt Petunia calmly.

"He's not going anywhere," Uncle Vernon stated from behind Tom, looking oddly like a large rhinoceros ready to charge headlong into something he couldn't handle.

"Let me rephrase," Tom said innocently but his voice was laced with poison. "Harry and I are going off for the morning. If you'll excuse us."

If it had been anyone else Harry wouldn't have gone, not wanting to insure his guardians' wrath when he returned, however being with Tom gave him an odd strength and confidence. He gladly stood, pushed past his dumbfounded uncle and followed Tom out into the street.

They walked in silence until they reached the park where they both simultaneously took a seat on the rusty swings. "So," Tom said at last, looking directly into Harry's eyes. "Why weren't you in school for a month?"

Despite knowing what Tom had been going to ask in advance, Harry was still utterly unprepared for this conversation. He sighed slightly, fishing around in his mind for what to say, eventually settling on the truth. "I set a snake on Dudley."

Tom's eyebrows went up in surprise. "How did you do that?"

"We went to the zoo for Dudley's birthday and I was, um, talking to the snake and-"

"You were talking to the snake?" Tom inquired, leaning in much closer than was necessary, his expression unreadable.

"Yes," Harry said, a little taken aback at his response.

"I can do that too," Tom said, leaning back again and looking thoughtful.

"Right, well, um, anyway my aunt and uncle got really mad and er, locked me in my cupboard for a month." Harry garbled the last bit, half hoping Tom hadn't heard him.

Tom's dark eyes narrowed with anger but his voice was deadly calm. "They did _what?_"

Knowing Tom had heard him properly the first time, Harry didn't reply, instead choosing to stare at his feet as he kicked at the gravel.

"I swear," Tom's knuckles went white as he gripped at the chains on the swing. "One day, I swear I'll..."

He broke off into silence, a dark gleam in his cerulean eyes.

* * *

As it turned out, the Dursleys weren't too angry with his display of defiance. Sure, they'd made him do chores until his back ached and given him little to no food, but that was how they usually treated him. Harry suspected Uncle Vernon's reasoning was that while Harry was happy spending time with Tom, (he tried so hard to combat Harry's happiness) it also got Harry out from under their feet. So he allowed their meetings to continue.

By the time something interesting happened, besides Dudley nearly running over Mrs. Figg, it was almost the end of July.

There was a clatter as the post fell onto the doormat, disrupting the otherwise silent breakfast the small family were having. "Get the post Harry," Uncle Vernon said lazily, turning the page of his newspaper.

Harry glared down at his measly slice of toast but got up anyway, trying to stay on his uncle's good side lest he stop him from seeing Tom. Avoiding Dudley's Smelting stick – the secondary school his cousin would be attending encouraged their students to whack others with sticks as training for later life – he hurried out into the hall.

Sitting on the mat were three items. A postcard, something that looked like a bill and _a letter for Harry_. It was addressed so clearly there could be no mistake:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Harry's heart skipped. He never got letters, _never._ There was no one he'd write too, and he wasn't enrolled in the library so he didn't even get nasty letters requesting books back.

The address was written in emerald-green ink and the paper was yellowish, rough and heavy; parchment. In a trance-like state he wondered back into the kitchen, passing Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard. Turning the letter over he noticed a strange wax seal: A coat of arms depicting a snake, lion, badger and eagle, all encircling a large H.

"Dad," came Dudley's whining voice. "Dad, Harry's got something."

Harry was on the point of unfolding the letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope when it was snatched out of his hands. "Hey!" He exclaimed as Uncle Vernon chuckled and shook the letter open.

His uncle's face turned from pink to red to green faster than a set of traffic lights.

"P-P-Petunia," he gasped dramatically, holding the letter high out of Harry and Dudley's reach. She took it from him curiously and read the first line. She went a pasty colour and looked as though she might faint.

"I want to read it," Dudley demanded, raping his dad sharply on the head with his Smelting stick.

"_I _want to read it," Harry said furiously. "As it's _mine_!"

"OUT!" Uncle Vernon yelled as Harry made a desperate grab for the letter. He shoved both Harry and Dudley out into the hallway and locked the kitchen door before either of them could protest.

"I'm listening at the keyhole," Harry told his cousin, using his "power voice". Dudley instantly complied, lying down on the floor to listen at the gap at the bottom of the door instead.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly, which Harry thought was taking it a bit far. He sure that anyone watching the Dursleys would promptly die of boredom.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"

"No," he said, shiny black shoes pacing around the kitchen floor. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything...

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

Later that morning Harry wandered out to the park where he would meet Tom, mulling over the days events. Who was writing to him? What did they want? How did they know where he slept? He wished he'd been smart enough to open the letter in private.

Harry sat down on the swings, dragging his feet in the gravel.

"Harry! Harry!" Tom was racing towards him, his face a picture of wild excitement. "Did you get your letter?" He demanded as he got closer.

Harry frowned up at him. "I got _a _letter. My Uncle took it off me though."

"So you haven't read it?" Tom said, sitting on the other swing and pulling a letter made from the same parchment as Harry's had been from his pocket. "Here, read mine."

Curiously, Harry took it from him and read it. His mouth fell open.

"We're _wizards!_" Tom explained. "Someone from this school, Hogwarts, came to explain it all to me," he said as Harry's expression grew more and more excited.

"So that's what this power is?" Harry asked. "Magic?"

Tom nodded feverishly. "There's a whole other world that Muggles, that's what non wizards are called, can't see. There are thousands of wizards all over the globe." His face fell slightly but Harry didn't notice.

"Where do we buy all of this?" Harry wondered, looking back down at the letter and the long list of equipment.

"Diagon Alley," Tom swiftly replied. "Someone's taking me there next week, I already asked if you could come with us."

For the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine smile tugged at Harry's lips.

* * *

**A/N: Massive thanks to anyone who reviewed:) I really appreciate it. So I don't think this is my best chapter - I'm more looking forward to when they get into the wizarding world - but anyway. Hope y'all liked it.**

**As always review? Pretty please?**

**Ciao:)**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe:'(**

* * *

When Uncle Vernon returned home from work that evening, one of the first things he did was to relocate Harry from his tiny cupboard into Dudley's second bedroom. Harry, who neither knew, understood nor cared for his uncle's ulterior motives, was delighted.

There were four bedrooms in number 4 Privet Drive: Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's; a spare bedroom that was used for visitors (namely Aunt Marge); Dudley's first bedroom and Dudley's second bedroom.

The latter was full of mounds of broken toys and piles of disused junk. On a large shelf by the window, the cine camera, which Dudley had gotten for his birthday only a month ago, sat broken, the lens cracked. Next to it was an assorted mix of toy cars, teddy bears with missing limbs and a remote control helicopter that Dudley had managed to fly through the kitchen window a few years ago.

Harry dumped his small pile of belongings on the floor and collapsed happily on the bed. All in all it had been a very good day: He'd finally escaped his cupboard, discovered he was a wizard _and _found out he'd be going off to a school for magic!

He and Tom had talked for hours about what Hogwarts would be like, what they would be taught, how similar it would be to muggle schools. Tom had repeated word for word what Professor Flitwick had told him about magic, which, as it turned out, wasn't a lot.

Apparently there were three different types of wizards: Purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborns. And, because the only name Tom's parents had given him was "Tom" (the care system had chosen his surname), no one could be sure which he was.

Neither Tom nor Harry knew why someone hadn't visited Harry to explain about Hogwarts like they had with Tom, though they eventually came to the conclusion that it must be because he lived with relatives. That of course meant that the Dursleys knew about magic – they knew Harry was a wizard. This definitely explained why they always got so angry whenever he accidentally did anything odd or weird (like setting a snake on his cousin), Harry thought. They were scared of it.

A man called Hagrid was meeting them next Tuesday (ironically this happened to be Harry's birthday) outside Tom's care home at ten and would be taking them to Diagon Alley so they could purchase all their school supplies. As Tom didn't have any money of his own, the school would be paying for him. Harry wondered about his own money, he'd stopped receiving pocket money six years ago and he was certain his uncle wouldn't pay for him to learn magic. Besides, the Dursleys weren't even aware of his knowledge of the magical world yet.

The morning of the 31st dawned bright and early, and Harry found himself awake long before the rest of the household. He got dressed, too excited to lie silently in bed and was halfway through cooking breakfast when the first sounds of the Dursleys getting up could be heard.

"Happy Birthday," Aunt Petunia said stiffly when she entered the kitchen in her salmon pink dressing gown.

"Thanks," Harry replied, completely amazed that she'd even remembered.

"This is for you." She placed a hastily-wrapped lumpy parcel on the table, causing Harry to wonder whose socks he'd be getting this year.

At half past nine, Harry swiftly left the house, telling his aunt that he was going to see Tom and that he'd be back by five.

The twenty minute walk from number 4 Privet Drive to Oak-Field Care Home seemed to take hardly any time at all and before he knew it, he and Tom were leaning on the fence around the care home, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their escort.

"He's late," Tom repeated, checking his watch for the third time in under a minute. He ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing both ways down the street irritably.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Harry reassured him, a little worried about Tom's out of character behaviour. The words were no sooner out of his mouth when a gigantic man appeared at the street corner.

There was no questioning that this was their escort. The huge man looked completely out of place in a moleskin overcoat and boots the size of baby dolphins. His face was mostly obscured by a tangled, wild beard, but crinkly eyes could be seen smiling out at them.

In his astonishment that it was humanly possible for someone to be that big, Harry's mouth dropped open.

Tom, quick to regain his composure, stood up straight, a polite mask sliding into place, all traces of anxiety gone. "Excuse me, are you Hagrid?" He asked, tilting his head up to see the man's face.

"That's me," the giant replied looking between the two boys. For a moment, Harry thought he recognised a brief flicker of confusion when Hagrid peered at Tom, however it soon vanished. "Tom and Harry I presume." Hagrid said. "Ain't seen you since you were a baby Harry," the giant smiled warmly at him.

Harry smiled, if a little uncertainly, back at him. He was sure that even as a baby, he would've remembered seeing someone of Hagrid's size.

"Best be off then," the giant said, not noticing Harry's discomfort. He marched purposely up the street and Harry and Tom were left to scurry after him, not wanting to be left behind.

Harry had never been to London before. Although, that wasn't saying much as he hadn't been anywhere other than Privet Drive, school, Mrs. Figg's house, Tom's care home and the zoo.

Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, but clearly wasn't used to getting there the muggle way. Tom, ever the epitome of politeness, was constantly having to help him with ordinary things such as ticket machines and escalators which wasn't helped by Hagrid pointed at said objects and loudly declaring, "would yer look at that! The things these Muggles dream up eh!"

"This is it," Hagrid finally said as they turned down yet another busy street. He pointed at a worn down bar, a rusty sign swinging slightly in the breeze. The place was so small and obscure that Harry was sure that if Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, he and Tom would've walked straight past it. "The Leaky Cauldron – it's a famous place."

It was dingy and shabby inside. A few old women sat in the corner, drinking golden liquid out of tall glasses. A man leered up at them from behind a long pipe. The bartender, a completely bald man with almost no teeth, was cleaning a glass with a rag while chatting idly to a couple of customers. "The usual, Hagrid?" He called when he spotted them.

Hagrid obviously came here often.

"Can't Tom," Hagrid said. "I'm on Hogwarts business." He gestured at Harry and Tom who, until now, had been hidden in the giant's shadow.

"Good Lord," the bartender said, nearly dropping his glass as he peered at Harry. "Is this – can this be?"

Tom shot him a look Harry couldn't quite decipher as the Leaky Cauldron fell completely silent.

"Bless my soul – Harry Potter!" The bartender nearly shoved Tom out of the way in his haste to get to Harry. He pumped his hand up and down vigorously, tears in his eyes.

Suddenly the sound of scraping chairs filled the room as everyone came up to Harry, shaking his hand and explaining how honoured they were to meet him.

Harry had no idea what was going on.

Hagrid beamed furiously at him while Tom silently observed in the background.

"So proud Mr. Potter. I'm just so proud."

"I've always wanted to shake you're hand Mr. Potter, I'm all of a flutter."

"Can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"Welcome back Mr. Potter. Welcome back."

People kept coming back to shake his hand again and again. Thankfully, after ten minutes, although to Harry it felt like a lifetime, Hagrid grabbed Harry and Tom and said loudly, "come on, we'd best be going, lots ter do."

They'd nearly made it to the exit when a young, pale man came forward nervously.

"Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid greeted. "Harry, Tom, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Pleasure to m-meet you both," the man stammered, one of his eyes twitching slightly.

"What subject do you teach Professor Quirrell?" Tom asked, smiling politely.

"D-Defense Against the D-Dark A-Arts," Professor Quirrell said with a small shudder as though he'd rather not think about it. "Y-You'll be getting y-your equipment then? I-I need t-to pick up a n-new book on v-vampires myself."

They said their goodbyes and were herded away by Hagrid, the wizards and witches behind them straining to get a last look at Harry.

"What was that about?" Tom demanded, turning to stare straight at Hagrid, his mask almost slipping as soon as the door behind them slammed shut, enclosing them in a small courtyard with a couple of dustbins.

"Well Harry's famous, o' course," Hagrid said, missing the quiet danger in Tom's voice. Frankly, he sounded quite delighted as he pulled out a battered, pink umbrella and began counting bricks.

Harry and Tom glanced quickly at each other. "I am?" Harry questioned curiously.

Hagrid froze, the point of his umbrella inches away from a brick. "Course you are," he said, revolving slowly to look at Harry. "I mean after what yeh did, how could yeh not be?"

Harry was getting more and more confused by the second. None of what Hagrid was saying was adding up. "What did I do?"

Hagrid licked his lips nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Yer don't know?" He finally said, more to himself than Harry.

"Know what?" Tom asked sharply, his dark eyes flickering from Harry to Hagrid.

"About- about You-Know-Who and- and-" He looked at Harry desperately but Harry was drawing a blank. "I didn't expect this," Hagrid said suddenly, his expression like that of a lost puppy's. "I never thought-"

"Hagrid." Harry said slowly, becoming irritated at his ramblings. "_What don't I know?_"

"It- it's a long story- and - and I don't think I'm the right person ter-"

"Hagrid," Harry warned.

Hagrid gulped loudly then sighed, resigning to telling them the whole tale. "You see," he began. "'Bout twenty years back, there was this wizard who- went bad. As bad as you can go." Harry nodded, encouraging him to continue. "He threatened ter take over our world, there was no one ter stop him. Some tried but, er, nasty things happened to them. Awful times. People were disappearing, thousands died, you didn't know who you could trust. Then, on Halloween ten years ago, he turned up in Godrics Hollow, where you and yeh parents were living-"

"Wait," Harry interjected. "My parents were like us?"

Worriedly, Hagrid nodded. "Best of 'em around. Never met nicer people. Well anyway," he sniffed suddenly and brought out a huge, red handkerchief. "You-Know-Who showed up on Halloween and- and he- he- he killed 'em-" Hagrid blew his nose loudly.

Harry suddenly felt very hollow. He'd always been told his parents died in a _car crash._ When in fact, they'd been murdered. Murdered by a dark wizard. He looked at Tom but Tom ignored him, staring at Hagrid with undivided attention.

"But then, this is the real myst'ry of the thing – he- he turned on you," Hagrid continued. "But, the thing is, he couldn't. After all the things he'd done, he couldn't kill you Harry. That mark on yer forehead – that ain't no ordinary scar – that's what you get when a powerful, dark curse touches you, and that's why yer famous – no one ever lived after he decided to kill 'em."

There was a brief period of silence then Tom suddenly asked, his voice deadly even, "what happened to You-Know-Who?"

Hagrid shrugged helplessly. "Dunno, his power snapped. He vanished. Makes yeh even more famous, Harry. Some say he died. Codswallop in my opinion, dunno if he had enough human left in him ter die."

The three of them stood silently in the empty courtyard for another minute or so until, eventually, Hagrid coughed loudly, and turned back around to face the wall, stuffing the now dirty handkerchief back into one of his many pockets. For the first time, Harry suddenly wondered what they were doing in the dirty courtyard.

Hagrid was counting the bricks on the wall before he said, his voice still slightly croaky, "welcome, to Diagon Alley."

The brick he had tapped with his pink umbrella wiggled before a hole started to appear in the wall. To Harry and Tom's astonishment, the hole grew, the bricks sliding out of sight, until it had made an arch that even Hagrid could fit through. Harry followed Hagrid through, then gasped.

They had come out onto a street, but it was certainly not muggle London.

Large, colourful shops with signs reading, "Invisible Inks and Quirky Quills," and "Cratern's Cauldrons for all occasions" lined the cobbled street. Exciting displays of all sorts of weird and wonderful things, most of which Harry had never seen before, flashed out at him from the bright windows.

Hagrid grinned at his and Tom's amazement.

"Gringotts first," he declared, any traces of emotion from their previous conversation all but forgotten. "Wizarding bank."

Harry suddenly felt a jolt that distracted him from the amazing displays. "Er, Hagrid I- I don't have any money."

Hagrid shot him an amused expression, "didn't think yeh parents left yer nothing did you?"

Harry frowned slightly but decided against questioning it. They carried on down the cobbled street, passing a group of gibbering children all gaping at a sleek broom.

"The new Nimbus 2000," one of them was moaning enviously.

"Look," Tom pointed at a shop which had jars of slimy liquid and dead insects in the window. The mask which usually shielded his emotions from the world had slipped in his astonishment and excitement. Harry smiled slightly to himself and continued to follow Hagrid until they reached a large, marble building.

Standing on either side of grand, bronze double doors and dressed in a red and gold uniform were-

"Yeah, that's a goblin," Hagrid told them, marching past the short, wicked creatures that bowed to them as they passed.

They reached another set of double doors, these ones silver and engraved with a poem written in cursive font.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed._

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Safest place to hide something," Hagrid said offhandedly. "'Cept maybe Hogwarts."

They entered a vast hall, a decorative ceiling stretching high above their heads. Goblins, too many to count, were sitting behind a long counter, scratching in ledgers or talking to customers. Tom hungrily eyed one weighing out massive rubies on a pair of brass scales.

"Mornin'," Hagrid said to a free goblin. "We've come to take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe an' the 'Ogwarts safe as well."

"Have you got the appropriate keys, Sir?" The goblin said, peering down it's long nose at the two boys.

"Er, yeah they're 'ere somewhere," Hagrid said, starting to empty things out of the many pockets in his coat. The goblin wrinkled his nose as Hagrid scattered some mouldy dog biscuits over his neat ledger. "'ere yer go." He produced one tiny, golden key and a large silver one.

The goblin held each one close to his eye, examining them. "That seems to be in order."

"Oh, and," Hagrid said, pulling out a slightly crumpled letter. "It's about the you-know-what in vault you-know-which," he said importantly, puffing out his chest.

Harry and Tom immediately looked at each other with sceptical expressions.

"It's almost as if he wants us to ask," Tom drawled quietly.

"Very well," the goblin said. "I will have someone take you down to all three vaults. Uleg!"

Uleg was yet another goblin. He greeted them with a curt nod before leading them through one of the many doors in the vast hall. The passage they'd entered was made from rough stone, flaming torches on the walls lit the way. Uleg whistled and a cart came hurtling towards them along small rail tracks in the floor. As soon as they had climbed in, they were off.

Harry had never been on a roller-coaster before but he imagined they'd probably be tamer than this. They hurtled at breakneck speeds through twisting passages and sharp turns. At one point they passed over a huge underground lake, the dark water reflecting the stalactites above.

They finally slowed to a halt in front of a small vault door and they clambered from the cart. Harry looked at Tom expectantly and the boy grinned back. "Left, right, right, left, middle fork-" Uleg didn't look pleased.

The goblin unlocked the door and they stepped back as green smoke came billowing out. When it had cleared, Harry saw piles of gold, silver and bronze coins, though none of it looked like the English money he was used too.

"Bronze are Knuts, silvers are Sickles and the gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid told him, despite looking a worrying shade of green. "Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's simple enough."

Tom helped him pile some into a bag and then they were off again, twisting through the underground tunnels. They came to a stop outside a much grander and bigger vault this time. The Hogwarts one.

Inside, plenty of stacks of coins could be seen at the back, but at the front were several money bags. Hagrid picked up one with Tom's name on and gave it to him. Tom nodded graciously and Harry suddenly felt a little guilty.

As if knowing his thoughts, Tom rolled his eyes, shoved him lightly then climbed back in the cart.

At the next stop, Harry and Tom remained in the cart as Uleg stroked a long finger across the heavy door.

"What d'you reckon it is?" Harry asked curiously, making sure to keep his voice down.

"Either something really valuable, or something really dangerous," Tom replied, his voice calm. "And I intend to find out which." Harry smirked while Uleg shot them an irritated look.

Harry caught a glimpse of a small object wrapped in brown paper before Hagrid tucked it safely away inside his coat. "Hogwarts business," he told them. "Dumbledore's special orders. More than me job's worth to tell yeh."

Harry and Tom only smiled innocently at him before the cart once again whisked them off.

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**A/N: I was planning to do Diagon Alley all in one chapter but it ended up way too long... Here seemed like a good place to split it. Thank you so much to everyone who favourited/followed/reviewed. I am eternally grateful;) Thanks to the anonymous 'Guests' who've reviewed - whoever you may be:) **


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe:'(**

* * *

The bright sunlight in the cobbled street outside was in deep contrast with the darkness of the underground tunnels and Harry found himself squinting as they left the marble building.

"Don't mind if I, er, go for a pick-me-up do yeh?" Hagrid asked them, looking longingly in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. "I hate them Gringotts carts."

It didn't make much of a difference to Harry and Tom, and he did look a nasty shade of green so after pointing them in the direction of _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, Hagrid left.

"Don't know why we had to get stuck with him," Tom said disdainfully, his mask falling as he frowned at Hagrid's retreating back.

"Mm," Harry said absently though his mind was still with the package in Hagrid's coat pocket. "I wonder what the 'you-know-what' could be," he mused, heading towards the correct shop.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll know be the end of the year," Tom said, smirking confidently.

"We will?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at Tom. He'd been almost positive that he'd just seen the last of the little brown package.

"Didn't you hear what he said?" Tom pushed open the door into the shop and a shrill bell trilled. "Gringotts is the safest place to hide something," Tom repeated Hagrid's earlier words, his dark blue eyes boring into Harry's. "Except for Hogwarts."

"Oh," Harry said in sudden realisation. "You think that- oof!"

In his brief moment of distraction, he'd accidentally walked straight into someone exiting the shop.

"Watch it," a pale boy with a sharp, pointed face hissed at him while hastily pulling himself upright and straightening his expensive robes.

"Sorry," Harry replied, more out of habit than anything else.

Unfortunately this must have showed through his tone because the boy sneered at him. "You'll regret this!"

"What?!" Harry said incredulously, amazed at the boy's reaction. "Accidentally bumping in to you?"

The boy had just opened his mouth to make another not so witty retort that he'd probably regret later when Tom popped up at Harry's shoulder. "What's going on?" He asked, his sickly sweet voice dripping with venom.

The boy, who seemed about their own age Harry noted, took a step back. "Nothing," he said. His eyes flickered over Tom and Harry's muggle clothing before he spun on his heel and walked straight out of the shop.

"Nice to meet you too," Harry called out after him. The boy didn't look back.

In almost no time at all they too were leaving the shop, clutching their brand new school robes in bags. Hagrid met them in the crowded street and took them to the Apothecary which, although dark and smelly, was fascinating. They sold dragon's hearts, crab claws, huge bundles of herbs, silvery strands of hair, shrivelled stones and Harry even spotted a bucket full of dead spiders.

Next they bought their quills, ink and parchment from a small, cramped shop whose dusty smell distinctly reminded Harry of classrooms, before heading to the large book store: Flourish and Blots.

They gathered together all the items on their book list (Harry consulting his own letter which Tom had taken from the postman before it had reached his house and the Dursleys' greedy hands) rather quickly but Tom insisted on staying so he could buy some non-syllabus books.

While Hagrid was speaking energetically to some other wizard that he knew, Harry and Tom wandered around the store, glancing at random titles.

"Look at this," Tom said after a while, waving him over and pointing at a book he had open entitled, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_.

"What is it?" Harry inquired, leaning over Tom's shoulder to read the page.

"Your name," Tom explained simply, a barely noticeable trace of bitterness in his voice.

Harry frowned down at the book and his eye caught on a name that appeared much more frequently than his own did. "Who's Voldemort?" Harry wondered aloud, trying to pronounce the odd spelling correctly.

"I think he's-"

"Hello," a voice suddenly said from right behind Harry.

He spun around and almost knocked a large stack of books from a girl's hands. She didn't seem at all bothered, on the contrary in fact. She beamed at the two of them, revealing rather large front teeth. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?" She asked, but before receiving an answer she hurried on. "I only got my letter last week which was such a surprise, I mean no one in family is magic at all! But I just know it's going to be wonderful! Where abouts are your parents? Mine are looking at cauldrons in one of the other shops. I did so want to visit all the shops because they're ever so different to the ones in the muggle world but I caught up in here with all these books instead. There are so many and I have no idea which ones will be of any use. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Harry blinked.

"I'm Tom Smith," Tom said politely though Harry could tell he was mocking her. Hermione however, didn't notice and shook his outstretched hand.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you from muggle families too?" She inquired, much too eagerly.

"No," said Tom, his false smile growing. "Of course not. I don't understand why they even let muggleborns into Hogwarts in the first place, it's not like they're proper wizards. Don't you agree Harry?"

Harry swallowed, eyes flickering nervously between Tom's intense gaze and Hermione's crestfallen face. "Oh, er, well I-" Tom narrowed his eyebrows slightly, warning him. "Yeah, er, yeah you're right Tom."

Hermione mouth twisted downwards then she said thickly, "oh, I'll, er, guess I'll see you around then." She rushed away, clutching her large stack of books to her chest.

Harry turned and glared fiercely at Tom. "What do you think you're playing at?"

Tom looked innocently puzzled then faked a sudden expression of guilty realisation. "Oh, was she a muggleborn? I didn't realise!"

Harry looked at him incredulously. "You realise you could be a muggleborn too right?"

Tom shook his head. "I'm not," he said casually.

"Whatever," Harry muttered, pushing past him.

"Hey!" Tom said forcefully, catching his shoulder. "Don't tell me you didn't agree with me."

"I didn't," Harry said, pulling away and this time successfully managing to put distance between them. It was a wonder that his shirt didn't burst into flames with the heat of the glare Tom was giving him.

They soon departed the shop and, although Hagrid could tell something was amiss between the two friends, he didn't ask, for which Harry was grateful.

They visited a few more shops to buy the last of their equipment and when Harry next consulted his list, mostly to avoid making eye contact with Tom who had been staring very intently at him, he saw they only had one more thing to buy: A magic wand. He felt a flicker of excitement.

"On'y yeh wands left now," Hagrid told them, leading them down the street toward a shabby shop with a sign written in peeling gold letters that read, _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. _A single wand lay on a faded, purple cushion behind the murky glass.

They entered in silence.

Stacks and shelves, overflowing with mismatched boxes were littered around the room, stretching right up to the dark ceiling. Harry felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck and goosebumps appeared on his arms. The entire shop was thrumming with some secret magic.

He could tell that Tom had felt it too because his 'friend' had gone very quiet and was staring with rapt fascination at the boxes.

A creaking sound caught Harry's attention. An old man had swiftly and silently appeared, his large round eyes shining like pale moons through the dust and gloom. "Good afternoon," He said quietly, his silvery voice sending shivers down Harry's back. "I hope you're going to put that back," he stared directly at Harry, causing him to frown in confusion.

On the other side of the shop however, Tom carefully put down one of the boxes, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. I thought I'd be seeing you here soon. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday that she too was in here buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

He stepped a little closer and Harry had to fight the sudden urge to step back.

"Your father, on the other hand," Mr. Ollivander continued. "Favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

He lifted a long, white finger and gently touched the lightning shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"And that's where... I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head, and to Harry's immense relief, backed away. He glanced around the rest of the shop and seemed about to say something to Hagrid when for the first time looked directly at Tom.

An expression of immense shook crossed Ollivander's face, causing Tom's eyes to narrow suspiciously.

"How curious," Ollivander said, eyes switching from Tom to Harry then back again. "Curious," he murmured again.

Before the two very confused young wizards could question him, he turned his back on them and rummaged through a draw, finally procuring two tape measures.

Harry very nearly gasped as the tape measures untangled themselves and slid towards the two boys like snakes. They began to measure them while Ollivander sorted through a few boxes, occasionally shooting them odd looks.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance," he told them, breaking the tense silence. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Throughout Ollivander's explanation, Tom had been staring at him, as if he were trying to read the old man's mind and find out just what was so curious. Harry had to admit to himself that he too was intrigued.

The tape measures dropped lifelessly to the floor when Ollivander eventually returned, his arms full of boxes. He placed them in two piles on a wooden desk before carefully opening one and passing it to Harry. "Ash and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, bendy.

Harry took it rather gingerly, holding it as if it might explode. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom shift his gaze to watch with a hungry expression. Ollivander gave Harry an encouraging nod and, feeling foolish, Harry waved the wand. Immediately, the old wizard snatched it out of his hand muttering, "no, no, certainly not Ash."

"Here," he thrust a wand from the second pile to Tom. "Oak and Unicorn hair, twelve inches, try."

As soon as the wand touched his hand, there was a loud bang and one of the shelves behind the desk exploded, causing papers to fly around the shop.

"Perhaps not," Ollivander said, snatching it from his grasp.

They continued like this for at least another fifteen minutes; Ollivander becoming happier and happier with every wand that was discarded.

"Try this," he said, presenting Tom with a handsome wand, slightly curved at the tip. "Rowan and dragon heartstring, thirteen-and-a-half inches, rigid."

When he took it, Harry let out a small gasp as a sudden whoosh of magic flew from the wand, lifting his hair and causing shivers down his spine. Hagrid clapped loudly from his seat on a small, spindly chair.

"Yes, yes, I thought as much," Ollivander said a little gravely, thankfully missing the inhumane gleam in Tom's eyes.

It was another five minutes until Harry found his match.

"I wonder," Ollivander mused his eyes sliding over Harry's scar and then, for some reason, Tom. Without another word he walked to the back of the shop and pulled out yet another box. "Holly and pheonix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. Green sparks shot from the end when he brought it slashing down through the air, bathing the shop in an emerald green glow. Hagrid whooped and Tom smiled widely at him, obviously trying to make up for the earlier argument.

"Curious," Ollivander muttered, taking the wand away from Harry and placing it back in its box. "How very, very curious."

All while he was wrapping the two boxes in brown paper he kept repeating the same word: "Curious."

This, it seemed, was slowly driving Tom insane. "What's curious?" He demanded after Ollivander said the darned word for what may have been the thirty-first time in the past hour.

Ollivander slowly looked up and fixed Harry with his pale stare as if it were he who had spoken.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry's eyes widened at the information though something still nagged at the bottom of his mind. Ollivander had been saying curious before they'd even started trying wands, since he'd first seen Tom.

"What's curious about Tom?" He questioned.

Ollivander looked at him sharply before abruptly finishing packing the wands and taking seven gold galleons from each of them.

Hagrid and Tom exited the shop but before Harry could follow them, a bony hand grasped his arm.

"Mr. Potter, take extra care around Mr. Riddle, he can't be trusted."

Harry looked up into those wide, silvery eyes but before he could ask who 'Mr. Riddle' was, Ollivander let him go and disappeared into the depths of the shop.

* * *

When Tom and Harry finally arrived back in Little Whinging, the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows over the paved ground.

"Are you still mad at me?" Tom asked once they reached the fork in the road where they would both go their separate ways.

"Yes," said Harry, trying to sound defiant instead of sulky but failing miserably. "You can't say stuff like that to people, Tom."

Tom sighed and looked away, back down the street they had just walked down. "Do you remember that boy in the robe shop?" He finally said.

"Yeah," Harry replied, a little taken aback at the turn in conversation. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"He was a Pureblood," Tom stated simply. "And, the way he looked at our muggle clothes... Look, Harry, if we want to survive in this world, we have to learn not to associate with muggleborns-"

"But-"

"_Harry,_ look at me."

Harry unwillingly lifted his gaze to meet Tom's dark blue eyes. "_I'm helping you._"

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. He could understand what Tom meant, almost. He didn't agree with it but they had to adapt to the wizarding ways and if this change in behaviour was necessary, then he'd have to adopt it.

"Good," Tom smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, and," he paused, then grinned, looking younger than he'd done all day. "Happy Birthday Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said but Tom was already walking away from him. He sighed then turned down his own street, struggling slightly with his numerous packages.

The day had been interesting to say the least, he certainly had a lot to think about. What was in the mysterious package Hagrid had taken from Gringotts? And who was the illusive Mr. Riddle Ollivander had warned him about?

He glanced down at his battered watch and the number 5:24 flashed up at him. He'd told his aunt that he'd be home by five. It seems the day wasn't over yet, he still had the wrath of the Dursley's to endure...

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, massive thanks to all the amazing people who have reviewed/followed/favourited, I love you all:)**

**In response to some reviews:**

**Blake2020: Thank you for taking the time to review each chapter and as for whether they're going to become allies with Voldemort... You're just going to have to wait and see!**

**Guest: I think that you can see that Harry's been influenced a bit more in this chapter but a Gryffindor could still be a possibility. I think you'll find out, not the next chapter but the one after.**

**NatNicole: So your review kind of inspired the whole Hermione part which actually turned out to be pretty important so thank you:)**

**Think I've PM ed everyone else who reviewed, though sorry if I missed you out :O**

**Next chapter will be the Hogwarts express. **


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe:'(**

* * *

Excited butterflies, practically exploding in a mixture of nerves and happiness were what awoke Harry at five am on the morning of September 1st. Unable to lie still and silent, Harry quickly got dressed, pulling on his large muggle clothes; he'd get changed into his robes on the train.

He paced tirelessly around his room, waiting anxiously for eight thirty to roll around so he could meet Tom. When the Dursleys had blatantly refused to take him to King's Cross, one of Tom's social workers had readily agreed to let him travel with them.

Upon his return from his trip to Diagon Alley, his aunt and uncle had been furious when they'd ripped open his packages to discover a cauldron, potion ingredients and a wand, among other magical items. Hence followed a two hour long shouting match in which Harry had to work very hard to keep his accidental magic under control, he didn't want to be punished for blowing up the house, however entertaining that might have been. Luckily, the Dursleys had consented to let him go to Hogwarts, finally having been swayed by the temptation of not having to see Harry for ten months, and the threat that grown wizards would come and turn them into toads if he didn't show up.

Unfortunately they locked all of his school things in the cupboard under the stairs which presented Harry with the problem that he wouldn't be able to read any of his course books before school. It was Tom who had come up with the solution to this.

A few days into August, the Dursleys went on a day trip to London as Uncle Vernon had a business meeting to attend. Predictably, Harry was left with Mrs. Figgs, a mad old cat woman whose house smelt strongly of cooked cabbage, while Tom took the opportunity to sneak into number four through the kitchen window that Harry had left open and swipe his books.

Harry had no idea how he'd managed to break into the cupboard when he was sure the Dursleys had taken the key with them, but decided not to question it. He had his books and that was all that mattered.

At Tom's instruction, they read through all of the books they had bought and tested each other vigorously until they could both recite the course books in their entirety because as Tom said, knowledge was power. It wasn't as if Harry minded, the books fascinated him and he was eager to learn as much as possible about their new world.

Still pacing, Harry passed by his wardrobe yet again, the doors still flung wide open from his packing last night. In the dusty mirror on the inside of one of the doors, he caught sight of his reflection.

A skinny boy of eleven looked curiously back at him, bright green eyes sparkling with undisguised excitement from behind wire-rimmed glasses, taped in the middle from when Dudley often punched him on the nose. His thin frame was swamped by Dudley's huge t-shirt and was rolled up several times at the sleeves. He pushed thick, black hair off his face and gazed at the lightning shape scar which sat there, vivid red against his pale skin.

Had he really defeated a dark wizard at the age of one? At first he'd found it unbelievable; he could hardly even stop Dudley from hitting him, but then he'd remembered the 'incident', not that he'd ever forgotten it, and couldn't help but wonder.

* * *

The goodbye from the Dursleys was virtually non-existent, which suited Harry very nicely. Dudley had been fast asleep, his snoring shaking the entire house, Aunt Petunia had granted him a stiff nod and Uncle Vernon glared at him from over the top of his morning newspaper.

Before he knew it, he and Tom were pushing their trolleys through King's Cross alone, having convinced the social worker that they could board the train themselves, they didn't want any pesky Muggles discovering the passage that led to Platform 9 ¾.

"It's here," Tom stated, shifting his trolley so he was standing directly in front of a large, blank and very solid-looking wall.

"Are you sure?" Harry questioned, glancing nervously at the wall.

"Of course," Tom silkily replied, shaking his head at him in slight amusement. "Hagrid said it was the third wall along."

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "You can go first but if you end up sprawled on the floor, don't expect me to follow your lead."

A hint of a smile graced Tom's face before he ran at the wall. Harry caught his breath, but Tom passed straight though, leaving him alone on the platform. Without hesitating, Harry copied him. At the last second he shut his eyes, expecting hard brick to slam into him but to his surprise, he simply carried on running.

He had emerged onto a busy platform, a sign reading Platform Nine and Three-Quarters swung overhead. Owls hooted, parents yelled their goodbyes, friends shrieked greetings and cats weaved around peoples' feet. A scarlet red train sent steam swirling around them, slightly obscuring Harry's sight. Even so, Harry twisted this way and that, trying to absorb as much as possible of his new surroundings.

"-And do _try _not to make anything explode this year-" They passed an exasperated woman dressed in flowing robes talking to a dark skinned boy who shrugged up at her, a mixture between cheeky and apologetic.

Nearby, another parent was smothering her pig-tailed daughter in a hug while half sobbing, "remember to owl us at least twice a week and tell us everything that happens-"

A rather erratic wizard almost caused a student's hat to go flying as he swung his arms energetically, speaking to a bored witch."-It's always the same you see, the ministry simply do not take enough action against Flobberworm attacks!"

"Come on," Tom called to him over the babble of chattering students and scraping of heavy trunks, indicating that they should get on the train.

They pushed their trolleys to a door near the end of the train that seemed slightly less busy than the others were. Panting, they finally managed to haul both trunks onto a luggage rack in the long corridor.

"Why are trunks so heavy?" Harry asked rhetorically, pulling a couple of books, a small amount of money and his school robes from his trunk.

"Maybe you should've packed less stuff," Tom told him, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe you shouldn't have forced me to buy so many books," Harry shot back, trying to stand taller but miserably failing, Tom was still a good eight inches taller than him. He hated being a midget.

Tom only smirked at him before entering an empty compartment. Harry relaxed into one of the comfy red seats near the window, gazing out at the busy platform as Tom sat down opposite him, eyes trained on Harry.

His gaze was so intense that eventually Harry turned to frown at him. "What?" He demanded.

Tom's eyes narrowed minutely. "Phrase you question properly, Harry."

"Why are you staring at me?" Harry said through gritted teeth.

"No reason," Tom said, looking away.

Harry glared, entertaining himself for a few minutes by imagining punching Smith. Really hard. In the face.

"Now, you two-" A voice floated in from the open window and Harry glanced out, catching sight of a family of red heads. It was the slightly plump mother who had spoken. "This year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've, you've blown up a toilet or-"

Identical evil grins broke out on two identical faces. Twins, Harry noted. "Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet!" One of them said.

"Great idea though, thanks, mum!" The other laughed.

The woman sent them a glare that would be rivaled only by Tom. "It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

A tall, gangly boy, splattered with freckles and with hair as red as the rest of his family blushed. "Shut up," he said.

Opposite Harry, Tom smirked, evidently he'd also been listening to the family. "Witty, that one."

"Don't be mean," Harry chided, but he too was smirking and the brief tension between the two vanished.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence and Tom pulled out one of his books, frowning lightly as he read. Harry looked back at the red-haired family, the mother now kissing each of her sons on the cheek, a younger sister clutching onto her hand and wailing. Harry felt a small pang of jealousy and found himself imagining his own parents bidding him goodbye on the station. His mother would hug him tightly, his father give him advice, and Tom – Tom wouldn't be there.

He snapped back to reality.

A life without Tom? Impossible. They had only known each other for less than a year but already there was a bond between them, a bond so close that no even their constant bickering could destroy it.

With a jolt, the train lurched into movement, the platform fell behind, a mass of waving, sobbing families. He and Tom caught each others gaze and for once, Tom let down his mask. A smile of wild excitement lit up his face.

"Anyone sitting there?" Tom's mask flew back up and he looked sharply at the compartment door. The boy from the red-haired family was standing uncertainly at the threshold, pointing at a spare seat. "Everywhere else is full."

"No," Harry and Tom chorused, then turned to glare at each other simultaneously, both warning the other not to interfere. "You can sit there," Harry clarified still glaring at Tom, and the boy hesitantly sat, most likely wondering what he had gotten himself into.

There was silence in the compartment while Tom went back to his book, the red-haired boy stared out the window and Harry drummed his fingers nervously on his leg.

"Hey, Ron."

The two twins appeared in the doorway.

"We're gonna head down to the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there!"

"Right," the red-haired boy now identified as Ron mumbled.

"Friends already Ronnie?" One of the twins grinned, catching sight of Harry and Tom. "I'm George, and this is Fred," he pointed at his twin.

"Tom Smith," Tom introduced calmly, lowering his book momentarily.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

The twins mouths fell open.

"Are, are you really?" Ron stuttered just as the twins said, "wicked."

"Er, yes," Harry said, starting to turn red.

"Do you have the... You know," Ron gestured to his forehead and, irritated, Harry pulled back his fringe, revealing the lightning scar.

"Wow," Fred (or George) breathed.

They continued to stare at him for a while longer and eventually Tom put down his book. "He's a human, not an animal in a zoo," he snapped and Harry was surprised to see a faint flush of red on his angular cheeks.

The red heads awoke from their revive and Ron stuttered an apology.

"See you then, Harry, Tom," George said, and with one last look they disappeared down the corridor.

Tom placed his book to the side and eyed Ron carefully. "What's your name?"

"Ron Weasley," Ron muttered, his ears turning as red as his hair, then he turned to Harry, staring at his forehead. "You don't happen to, er, remember it, do you?"

"I remember a lot of green light," Harry said, shrugging. "That's about it."

Ron nodded, in awe. He stared at Harry for a few moments, then quickly looked away before Tom could open his mouth again.

Tom sent Harry a look that quite clearly said, '_Please _let me get rid of him.'

Harry shook his head slightly. Tom had already scared off one potential friend, he wasn't going to let him send off another. As if to prove his point, he asked Ron, "Are you a pureblood?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, seemingly grateful for the conversation starter. "All of my family are magical, except for one of mum's second cousins, but we don't really talk about him. I'm the sixth one in my family to go to Hogwarts. I've got five older brothers, Bill and Charlie have left Hogwarts now, but Percy's still there – he's a fifth year – and you met the twins."

"What do you brothers do?" Harry questioned. "The ones that have left Hogwarts, I mean."

"Er, Charlie studies Dragons in Romania and Bill works for Gringotts, collecting treasure from tombs, or something like that." Ron suddenly frowned, a thought occurring. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet. Someone tried to rob a high security vault!"

"What?" Tom exclaimed, giving Ron his full attention.

Encouraged, Ron continued. "Yeah, they didn't get caught though, that's why it's such big news. Gringotts is practically impossible to break into so everyone thinks there's a dark wizard behind it-"

"What did they take?" Harry asked, catching onto Tom's train of thought.

"Nothing," Ron said. "Apparently the vault had been emptied earlier in the day so whoever it was must have been-"

"When was this?" Tom interrupted.

"Oh, er," Ron stammered, thinking. "Thirty-first of July, I think..."

Harry and Tom exchanged a significant look.

"You don't think-" Harry started but Tom swiftly nodded, cutting him off.

Ron looked uneasily between the two, gaze shifting between one and the other.

"So, tell me, Ron," Tom beamed blindingly at the poor red head, switching on his charm. "What's it like to grow up with wizards?"

Harry settled back into his seat, mind racing. Tom taking control of the conversation had a clear enough meaning: He didn't want to tell anybody about what they knew, not just yet anyway. But what was in the package? Whatever it was, evidently somebody wanted it, and evidently that somebody was powerful, powerful enough to break into Gringotts.

Their next visitor was an old woman pushing a trolley laden with the most bizarre sweets Harry had ever seen. Even so, he bought a pumpkin pasty and some chocolate frogs.

Harry couldn't help but laugh when Tom opened one of the chocolate frogs and it leaped out and onto his face. That of course earned him a death glare, but Harry was too busy laughing to notice. It wasn't often that Tom embarrassed himself so he wasn't about to let the opportunity slip.

The cards that came with the frogs were interesting, though Harry didn't particularly care for collecting all of them like Ron had. Harry soon had Merlin, Circe, Morgana and Dumbledore, their headmaster.

Harry recognised him from several of the books he and Tom had bought. Apparently the greatest wizard in the world and the only one that Voldemort had been afraid of. Apparently. Tom had told him that history such as this couldn't be trusted, for history was always written by the victors.

A knock on the door caught Harry's attention and he looked up to see a tearful, round-faced boy. "Sorry," he said. "But have you seen a toad at all?"

"No," Tom told him flatly.

Taken aback at the abrupt answer, the boy stammered a quick, "thanks," then left the compartment.

Ron looked sidelong at Tom but chose not to comment, which was most likely wise. Ron wasn't exactly the brightest bird in the bush and Harry didn't hold much affection for him but he didn't want to see him destroyed by Tom.

"Dunno why he cares so much," Ron said. "If I had a toad I'd lose it as quickly as possible. But then again, I brought Scabbers so I can't say anything." He indicated a grey ball of ratty fur that was curled up on a seat next to him.

Their next visitors turned out to be much more interesting.

Three boys let themselves into the compartment and Harry recognised the middle one as the blonde boy from Madam Malkin's.

"So it's you, is it?" The boy asked, giving Harry much more attention than he'd given him in the shop.

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling sweetly. "But you'll have to be more specific." He could almost hear the laughter that Tom was internally hiding.

The boy flushed lightly, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. "Are you Harry Potter?" He tried again.

"Yes," Harry answered, raising his eyebrows as he glanced at the two boys on either side of the pale boy. They were thickset and mean-looking but Harry's immediate thought was that neither of them had a single brain cell.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," the pale boy introduced casually. It seemed the bodyguards couldn't speak for themselves. "And I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron coughed loudly, hiding a snigger, causing both Tom and Harry to give him curious frowns.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron blanched slightly and his face reddened but before he could throw another insult, Malfoy's eyes snapped to Tom.

"And who are _you_?" He sneered.

Oh Malfoy, Harry thought, you just signed your death warrant.

"Tom Smith," Tom said with a smile that would have any person with any sense on the floor begging for mercy. Too bad Malfoy didn't.

"Right," Malfoy said, a little uninterested, which caused Harry to think that 'Smith' was a surname in the wizarding world as well as the muggle world. He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." And then he stuck out his hand.

After a slight moment of hesitation, Harry shook and Malfoy's grey eyes gleamed. From the corner, Ron let out a dramatic gasp but Tom's lips curved upwards. He understood.

"I'll see you around," Harry said, giving the clear indication that the three boys should leave.

Malfoy frowned for a moment, then his expression cleared. "See you, Potter."

Once they'd left, Tom nodded once at him. "Well played," were the only words he said.

The compartment then fell oddly quiet, Ron now acting much colder towards the two of them and hardly speaking.

Harry had to work incredibly hard to keep in a groan when there was yet another knock on their door only half an hour later.

"Excuse me."

It was the bushy-haired girl they'd met in the bookshop. Granger, Harry thought her name was. Either she'd forgotten their meeting (which Harry doubted) or she simply didn't care about what they'd previously said to her for she didn't even flinch when she saw him and Tom. "You haven't seen a toad, have you? Neville's lost one."

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron told her, scowling at her bossy voice.

"Oh, well," her eyes roamed around their compartment. "You should probably be getting changed soon. I've just spoken to the driver and he said we're nearly there."

"Then do you mind leaving?" Tom asked her coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"All-right. Although people are behaving very childishly out there," she said sniffily. "Racing up and down the corridors-"

"What do you expect?" Harry said. "We _are _children."

"Mm." Granger peered back out into the corridor then faced them again. "You've got dirt on you're nose, by the way," she told Ron. "Did you know?"

They all glared at her as she left and Ron muttered, "she seems insufferable."

"You don't know the half of it," Tom agreed, his lip curling.

Harry glanced outside the window. It had grown dark but tall, green trees and purple mountains could be seen stretching off into the distance.

They all pulled on their long, black Hogwarts robes and Harry couldn't help but notice how Ron's were much too short. He tugged on them self-consciously when he saw Harry looking. Interesting.

The train halted with a small jerk that nearly sent Ron sprawling, then they walked out into the corridor, lamps on the wall throwing light over hundreds of students pushing and shoving to get through the doors and out onto the dark platform outside.

Ron had turned an odd mix of green and white and Harry felt a jolt of nerves in his stomach. Tom looked as impassive as ever.

"Firs' years! Firs' years to me!" A familiar, booming voice called, catching the three boys' attention. Hagrid loomed up, a huge, hairy shape in the night, a lantern swinging from one hand. "C'mon, follow me! Firs' years. Any firs' year ter me!"

They all followed Hagrid down a slippery, narrow path. Harry and Tom were near to the back and Ron had mysteriously deserted them. Harry thought he caught a glimpse of red hair from ahead, behind Hagrid. Nobody spoke, the silence and darkness pressed in on them and Harry shivered, wishing he'd worn a thicker jumper under his robes.

"Ye'all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Harry gasped and was sure Tom did the same.

A great, black lake stretched out in front of them, reflecting the twinkling stars above. On the other side, perched atop a high mountain, was Hogwarts. A vast castle, turrets and towers reaching up to touch the sky.

They climbed into small, wooden boats. Harry and Tom were joined by two unknown boys, one with sandy hair and another with dark skin, and then they were off. Gliding smoothly across the still water in the looming shadow of the hulking castle.

"Heads down," yelled Hagrid and they ducked as they reached a curtain of ivy, leading them into a rocky tunnel. Eventually the boats stopped in a small underground harbour and they all clambered out, trying not to slip on the pebbles under-foot.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" The round faced boy cried blissfully. Beside Harry, Tom snorted in disdain.

A short flight of steps later and they were crowded around a large, oak door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked on the door, the sound booming around the sweeping grounds.

* * *

**A/N: Well there you go:) Hope it was alright. I'm really happy! 1000 views in five chapters. Thank you to everyone.**

**So I'm aiming to update every Saturday, around seven-eight pm GMT. I have exams coming up so at the moment I won't be able to update any more than that. Don't you just love exams?**

**Sorting in the next chapter – where do you think Harry's going to end up? **


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anyone/thing in his universe:'( Anything you recognise has been taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.**

* * *

The entrance hall was enormous. The ceiling stretched high above Harry's head – so high that he could hardly make it out. Flickering torches hung from brackets on the walls and to his right, through a large set of double doors, a vast hall filled with chattering students could be glimpsed.

However, the strict woman, who had already introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, didn't take them through these. Instead she proceeded to show them into a small side chamber where _moving _portraits stared at them in open curiosity.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, successfully drawing the attention of the nervous, shaking first years. The only ones who didn't look as though they were about to faint, Harry noticed, were Malfoy and his two cronies and, of course, Tom. His face was as impassive as ever, paying McGonagall only polite attention.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, her eyes sweeping over the huddled group. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you."

And with that she turned on her heel and left, bottle green cloak swishing behind her.

"How do you think they sort us?" Harry immediately asked, turning to Tom.

He shook his head nonchalantly. "I don't know, but they won't make us do any magic," he said, cerulean eyes resting on Hermione who was frantically trying to recount every spell she'd ever read about to a trembling Neville. "We haven't had a chance to learn anything yet and I'd imagine not everyone here has the sense to pick up a book before they come."

Reassured, Harry nodded. He and Tom had tried out a few of the spells from the course books and they'd all worked perfectly, however he didn't think he'd be able to perform them in front of an audience.

Several screams made him and Tom spin around from the secluded corner where they'd been standing, away from the other students.

A mass of pearly-white, semi-translucent figures had just entered the chamber. Through a wall.

Ghosts.

It seemed that the magical world had thought he was in need of yet another surprise.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights was saying, paying no heed to the clump of first-years. "He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

The ghost had suddenly noticed them.

When none of the other first years procured an answer, Tom sighed and said politely, "we're the new first years."

The ghosts all looked to him and Harry saw a fat, little monk open his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of 'ah, I knew it," when there was a sudden, high pitched wail.

It had come from a female ghost dressed in a shimmering, silver dress that fell to the ground. She was staring straight at Tom, her eyes as wide as saucers. As they all looked on, ghosts and students alike, she gave another dramatic wail and quickly exited through another wall.

"Don't mind her," the ghost with the ruff told them, waving his hand when he saw their dumbfounded expressions. "She always acts a little strange."

"Move along now, the sorting ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had reappeared.

She made them form a closely packed line, Harry and Tom at the back, and then they all followed her out of the chamber, over the flagged-stone floor and through the double doors Harry had noticed earlier. If Harry had thought the entrance hall was impressive, it was nothing compared to this.

Thousands of candles hovering in mid-air illuminated the excited faces of students seated at four long tables heavily laid with golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall, where Professor McGonagall was leading them, was another table, this one reserved for the teachers. But by far the most interesting sight was the ceiling. If Harry hadn't recalled what he'd read about it being bewitched to resemble the sky outside in _Hogwarts; A History _he'd have thought the Great Hall simply opened out onto the heavens. At the moment it was velvety black, dotted with specks of silver stars.

Looking forwards once more, he saw McGonagall silently place a dirty, ragged hat on a three-legged stool. He and Tom exchanged curious glances.

Then, the hat did the very thing Harry was least expecting. It began to sing.

Harry had to work very hard not to let his mouth drop open at the sight of a singing hat. And then, once the shock had worn off, he had to try very hard not to laugh. That might have been slightly inappropriate in the near silent hall.

When it had finished, he clapped along with the rest of his peers feeling much more relaxed than he had been before. So all they had to do was try on a hat. That didn't seem too difficult though as of now he had no idea where he belonged.

Not Hufflepuff, he decided, that seemed to be the house for leftovers. So Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Slytherin? Was he brave? He supposed so. Constantly hanging around with someone as intimidating as Tom had increased his fear factor but he didn't know if he could be classed as 'brave'. Smart and hard-working? Maybe. He'd studied a lot already though that had mostly been because Tom had made him. Slytherin then? He couldn't be sure.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall said, unravelling a long scroll. "Abbott, Hannah!"

And so the sorting began.

"Where're you going?" Harry whispered to Tom after a few of the students had been sorted.

"Slytherin," Tom whispered back, casting him an amused expression. "Though I'm sure you already knew that."

Harry grinned back. It was true, he'd had no doubt that Slytherin was the best house for Tom. Ambitious, cunning, sly. Tom was the epitome of a Slytherin.

"Granger, Hermione," Professor McGonagall called causing Harry and Tom to look up as the now familiar bushy haired muggle-born eagerly made her way up to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. "GRYFFINDOR," the hat yelled after a few minutes.

"Thank goodness," Tom breathed from next to him. "Imagine being stuck with _her _for seven years!"

"_Tom,_" Harry chided.

"_Harry,_" Tom replied smoothly, his quiet voice hiding a laugh.

Despite himself, Harry smirked, shaking his head. Glancing back at the stool, he noticed Professor McGonagall send him and Tom a dirty look. Apparently their whispered conversations weren't going completely unnoticed.

His next source of amusement came, not from Tom, but from Neville who belted off to the Gryffindor table with the hat still jammed tightly on his head. Amidst the gales of laughter, Harry swore to himself that he wouldn't, _couldn't _let that happen to him.

Predictably, Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin almost the second the hat touched his head and he swaggered off to the table second from the right to sit with Crabbe and Goyle who had already been sorted.

When, "Nott, Theodore," was called, Harry begun to feel the spasms of nerves he'd tried so hard to ignore come bubbling to the surface. "Parkinson, Pansy." He took a shaky breath. "Patil, Parvati." He was going to be sick. "Patil, Padma." Would he still have to be sorted if he fainted on the way up? "Perks, Sally-Anne." He felt someone nudge his arm and he made eye contact with Tom.

The egocentric git smirked at him as if to say 'really? You're nervous? _I'm _not nervous, so you shouldn't be either.

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall said.

Trying to feign confidence, simply so Tom would stop smirking humorously at him, Harry stepped forwards. Immediately hisses sprung up from around the room like wildfires.

"Did she say _Potter?_"

"As in _the _Harry Potter."

Harry was infinitely grateful when he sat down on the stool and the hat fell past his eyes, blocking the view of his fellow students craning their necks, desperately trying to get a good look at him.

"Hmm," a small voice hissed in his ear, startling him. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes, and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry waited, his heart beating faster by the second.

"Hufflepuff perhaps?" The snide voice said.

_No, _Harry thought back firmly, becoming disgruntled as the hat laughed. It was baiting him.

"Of course not, though Gryffindor would suit you nicely. The Boy-Who-Lived has has a reputation to keep up after all."

_What do you mean? _Harry thought, puzzled.

The hat's laughter tickled his ear. "Yes, Gryffindor would be good... I can see exactly what would happen if you went there, you know. Although..."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Yes, yes," the hat said, agreeing with itself. "You could be great... It's all here, in your head and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that... But... No, no. That wouldn't do. Except..." Harry felt something that must have been the hat sighing. It felt like a breath of wind on his neck. He shivered. "Better be SLYTHERIN!"

The last word was shouted out to the hall. Shaky, though happy, he pulled the hat off his head to an utterly silent hall. Weren't people meant to be cheering?

The silence continued for a few more moments, then the table second from the right hesitantly started clapping. Harry glanced at Tom and felt something similar to pride at Tom's approving look. Mentally giving himself a pat on the back, Harry sat down in an empty seat at the Slytherin table and preceded to watch the rest of the sorting.

From his position, he could now see the High Table properly. The only ones he recognised were Hagrid, seated on the end and frowning down at his plate, Professor Quirrell, the stuttering man from the Leaky Cauldron, and Albus Dumbledore, who, up until now, he'd only ever seen on a chocolate frog card. He was seated right in the centre, on a large, gold chair. A silver beard, the colour as vivid as the blue and yellow robes he was wearing. In that moment, the old man looked up, his electric blue eyes landing on Harry. The expression on the headmaster's face confused him. Disappointment? What had he done wrong?

He turned back to the sorting.

"Smith, Tom," Professor McGonagall called and Tom walked up to the stool, black robes billowing around him. If Harry hadn't been so absorbed in watching Tom, he may have noticed the sudden look of intense alarm that etched itself upon Dumbledore's face.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat immediately screamed.

As if Harry had expected anything else.

Their house applauded as Tom carefully sat down next to him and they made brief eye contact. 'Well done,' they both seemed to be saying.

After that, the sorting passed by in a blur. "Turpin, Lisa," went to Ravenclaw, Ron to Gryffindor ("Good riddance," from Tom) and "Zabini, Blaise," finally joined them at the Slytherin table.

At a few odd words from Dumbledore that cause Tom and Harry to raise their eyebrows incredulously, the golden plates filled themselves with food. Crispy roast potatoes, juicy beef, sizzling chicken legs, piles of buttery vegetables, creamy gravy, fries, mint humbugs. The list went on and on.

Harry piled his plate high with food, having had only a pumpkin pasty and some chocolate frogs on the train. Tom restrained himself, but then he often said that food was merely a substance to give them energy so he'd only eat what was necessary. Weirdo.

They ate in companionable silence, both observing the other Slytherins. Most of their fellow first-years, Harry noticed, appeared to already know each other. Probably due to the fact that almost all of them were pure-bloods, just like the Malfoy family. They would have grown up together. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a ghost donned in silvery blood and chains, watching Tom with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

It was just as the deserts had appeared, Harry helping himself to a large portion of treacle tart, that it happened. He had been silently watching the High Table when Professor Quirrell turned his back on him to talk to a Professor with greasy, black hair.

"Ouch," he winced, clamping a hand to his forehead as white-hot pain flashed across it.

On the table, he saw Tom's knuckles go white as he suddenly clenched his fist together.

"You okay?" A older Slytherin asked Harry from across the table, oblivious to Tom's subtle reaction.

Harry nodded mutely, removing his hand from his head and going back to his tart. It was only when the Slytherin struck up a conversation with his friend that Harry felt a cold hand clamp around his wrist.

"What happened?"

Harry looked at Tom, the other's cerulean eyes boring into his. "My scar hurt," he admitted. "I was looking at Professor Quirrell and the teacher with the black hair."

Tom frowned, unease making an appearance on the usually controlled features.

"What about you?" Harry asked.

Tom's eyes looked searchingly into his own. "I-I don't know. It was this odd... _tugging _feeling." Tom shrugged helplessly then, his moment of weakness vanishing, looked away.

At last the desserts disappeared and the hall fell silent as Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming at them all.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Harry thought he saw Dumbleore's eyes flash in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally." Harry blinked as Dumbledore's voice turned deadly serious. "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Tom made a chocking noise, staring up at Dumbledore in disbelief.

"It's as if he _wants _it stolen," Tom said incredulously.

"Huh?" Harry questioned, then, "oh! The package is in the third-floor corridor?"

"With protections, I'd imagine," Tom said, frowning again.

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot," Dumbledore told them, smiling as the sound of benches being scraped back and the loud voices of students filled the Great Hall.

Tom, Harry and the other first-year Slytherins followed one of their prefects out into the entrance hall, then down a sweeping staircase into the lower parts of the school. The dungeons. As they descended, the air grew colder, rough stone walls surrounding the small group. Harry tried to remember the way through the twisting and turning passages, but soon he couldn't keep up. Tom would remember, he could always ask him.

Eventually the prefect stopped them at yet another section of rough wall, however she pointed out a small snake, scratched onto the stone in the top right-hand corner that indicated the entrance to the snake pit.

"Curse," she said in a clear voice and the wall slid away with a loud grinding noise. Evidently that was the password.

They all stepped through and it shut with a bang behind them.

Harry's first impression of the common room was that it was elegant. Beautiful perhaps. Sofas and armchairs were scattered about a large room, the abundance of green casting a intriguing hue upon the place. There was a large grate, a fire crackling loudly, spitting up sparks.

Harry smiled to himself.

"Boys' dormitories are through this door to the left," the prefect was saying, indicating a door made from the same mahogany as the chairs. "And the girls' are on the right. If you have any questions, come to me, unless of course I'm busy in which case go to one of the other prefects. Got it?"

They all nodded then separated, walking towards their respective dorms.

The corridor beyond was long, several more doors branching off it, each with signs on the door. Sixth-years, seventh-years...

"First-years," Draco drawled loudly, pushing open one of the doors to reveal a spacious rectangular room fitted with seven curved four-poster beds, the green drapes the same hue as the chairs in the common room.

Their trunks had been brought up for them and were now lying at the end of the beds. Locating his own, which happened to be next to Tom's, Harry silently pulled on his pyjamas, too tired to talk much. On the opposite side of the room, Draco was complaining loudly to his two cronies about how his own room back at his mansion was bigger and better than this.

Harry tried his best to ignore Draco's irritating drawl and sensed Tom doing the same. Briefly he wondered how long Tom's patience with the Malfoy would last...

He pulled the drapes shut and lay down on the soft bed.

He was asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

A skeletal figure stood with his back to him, long black robes draped elegantly over his frame. "You must choose," he said in a high, cold voice.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, confused.

Laughter rang around him and Draco appeared, smirking at him. Again the figure repeated, "you must choose."

A flash of green light and the figure changed to Quirrell, pointing and laughing. More light. The greasy haired teacher. More laughter.

"You must choose."

"Choose what?" Harry said, unable to keep panic from entering his voice.

Very slowly. Very deliberately, the figure turned.

"You must choose," said Tom.

Harry awoke, gasping, before he slumped and rolled over. The next morning he'd forgotten that he'd ever dreamt that night.

* * *

**Well that took a while to write. Hope it wasn't too rushed... Sorry I haven't replied to any of the reviews from last week - this week has been hectic but rest assured i'll get to it soon. As always, thank you to everyone reading this story! It makes me happy to know that people apart from me actually like what I write! Next chapter next Saturday:)**


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